


Graffiti Love

by brandymallory



Series: Breathing All Of These Fumes [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, aurani, resurrection AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:46:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandymallory/pseuds/brandymallory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he paints her on concrete is in the alley behind a shutdown Blockbuster. He’s painted her on canvas a dozen or so times before, but this time she was a monster, a giant, and she required more space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graffiti Love

_‘Warehouses above_  
 _All I'm thinking of_  
 _You gave your heart to me_  
 _And soon the world will see’_

_Every Subway Car – The Barenaked Ladies_

* * *

 

The first time he paints her on concrete is in the alley behind a shutdown Blockbuster. He’s painted her on canvas a dozen or so times before, but this time she was a monster, a giant, and she required more space.

He spray painted her on the wall without skin, just bone, muscle and that same pale blonde hair that he’d painted before. She was looking down at him, reaching for him, against a blue sky and a green field; a moment of time frozen in his memory. Well, a memory from a dream. Or was it a dream of a memory? He really didn’t know and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

There are ten missed texts and one call on his phone when he’s done, all telling him about the ‘amazing’ party he was missing, and how some blonde girl kicked Eren’s ass at poker.

 

* * *

 

When he comes back the next day, there is a new painting on the opposite wall of the alley. Had it always been there? A figure sitting in the grass, face hidden by a cloak; the same green cloak and the same set of wings that haunted his nightmares. 

Perhaps a fan of his work? He had signed the giant with his normal tag, and the winged mantel often appeared in his street work. He hadn’t been doing graffiti work for long, a year at most, but his works were usually of blood, giants and the same soldiers engaging in battle.  

It’s signed with ‘Ice Queen’.

Best not to overthink it, he tells himself.  This part of the city was full of graffiti artists; kids who were broke and couldn’t afford anything but a can of spray paint, angry gang members, rebels and twenty years olds like him with careers and a never ending itch to feel the rush that graffiti provided. It could mean anything.

 

* * *

 

His next project is huge and takes him two nights to complete with Eren’s help. Eren rarely paints anymore (he’s more into skateboarding) but something about Armin’s design draws him in.  They paint a monster looming over the large concrete wall that remains from a long forgotten building. It’s difficult, as they’re both recklessly tied off to rebar branches with ropes, painting a sky behind a monsters face so it appears the 50ft wall is smaller than it is. But when Armin finishes the final pass of paint to create a false hole in the bottom, he’s happy with their work.

He and Eren spray their false names in the corner, Eren’s alias (Titan) standing out more than his (Legout), but he doesn’t care, he couldn’t have done it without him really.

 They come back two days later to see it in the day light. Armin pointing out a few patches that needed touch up and taking a photo or twenty for his private portfolio when he noticed it, a new painting on the other side of the wall.

 Three small figures, looking up at the top of the wall. One had the pale blonde hair he’d been painting for the last fifteen years, the other two had hoods. They appeared to be so small, looking up at an impossible obstacle.  

 And they looked so very scared.

 Its signed Ice Queen.

 

* * *

 

“Ice Queen tagged beside you twice?” Jean’s smile grew wide as they sat at a picnic table outside of the college eating their lunch before afternoon classes, “You’ve never seen her work before?”

Armin shook his head, reaching for fries, “Is she new?” 

The taller boy pulled out a map of the city (he carried several, it was weird, but often handy for a teenager who spent his free time documenting graffiti throughout the city for his blog) circling a dozen or so points.

“Not new, just rarely active,” he handed over the map, “Here are her best works that are still up. Go check them out, she’s amazing.”

“If you say so,” the blond boy muttered, pocketing the map and trying to suppress the sudden mix of terror and excitement in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The first stop is actually pretty close to his apartment and he’s surprised he’s never noticed it before. A forest painted on the walls of a middle school. Metal cables are obstructing the view, as if locking the viewer down. 

It’s amazing, and it’s no wonder the school hasn’t painted over it. He’d always accepted graffiti as art, but this, this felt like it had been stolen right out of a museum.

 He doesn't really understand it, but something is so familiar. 

 

* * *

 

After he gets home he draws her in his sketch book.  Smiling as she stares at the stars above her on a crisp summer night. It’s a scene from a dream where he had kissed her and she had kissed him back.

 

* * *

 

 He has a gallery opening to attend. Paintings he spent weeks on are being showcased and he shouldn’t be late, but all he wants to do is stay home and finish his current project. He’s broken out the oil paints (which he hasn’t touched in a year or two) and is attempting not to drown his painting in blood, but it’s all he can seem to paint today. 

 Mikasa shows up to force him into a suit and out the door.

 

* * *

 

Professional events have always bothered him, even after having been a professional artist for a couple years now. Praise for his paintings, which all showcased things of beauty (fields of flowers, oceans and the smiles of friends, the opposite of his midnight murals) has always confused him. 

She’s only in one painting in this showcase, but it’s the most popular one. Loose blonde hair flying in the wind, snow fluttering around her like she was in a snow globe, bundled in a coat and looking back at the viewer with an upset frown.  He hadn’t given it a name (he never named her paintings) but it was often referred to as ‘The Snows Princess’.

An odd couple stands in front of it for much of the night, a tall dark haired boy and his considerably buffer boyfriend. He can’t tell if it makes them happy or sad, but when he comes closer they ask what so many already have.

“Who is she?”

He takes a breath to prepare the speech he always says. That when he was little he thought she was him, and that perhaps he was drawing who he wanted to be. But as he grew older he knew she was something separate from him, but such a part of him he couldn’t get her out of his mind. A past life memory or just an imaginary girl of his dreams, she was his muse.

But instead he just replies, “I loved her I think,” and walks away.

 

* * *

  

Mikasa takes him for drinks after and he gets reasonably trashed. On the subway home he breaks into tears and doesn’t know why.

He sneaks away from his friends to paint her in the alley a couple blocks from his apartment building.  She’s laughing, face red, but something’s wrong.  The painting is rushed for him, desperate and reckless, but she’s there on the wall, laughing.

It frightens him a bit, and he doesn’t come back to look at it later like he normally does.

 

* * *

 

The second painting he visits is a field of grass and building rubble. The perspective is strange, like he’s viewing it from above in a hot air balloon or something. Horses dart across it, riders setting off a trail of black flares.  It’s out of place for the abandoned parking lot it sits in.

All he feels from it is fear.  His heart is racing and he doesn’t really know why.  He’s tempted to run from it, but he ends up sitting there looking at it for a solid hour as the sun sets behind, only leaving when it was too dark to see.  

  

* * *

 

“You should have come with me and Ymir last night,” Krista, who sits behind in his Digital Illustration class (a class he finds he struggles at) says as they look over their next assignment, “We went to this cool café on 10th that our friend from high school has some art up in. You’d like her; she’s very quiet just like you.”

“I don’t know if both being quiet is really as reason for me to like someone,” he made a frustrated noise at his computer, him and Photoshop not getting along, “But I was planning on coming, I just…” he hesitated, not wanting to explain he spent the evening staring at a parking lot wall and then his bedroom ceiling, “Got caught up in some art stuff.”

“That’s okay,” she smiled, “We can drag you some other time, her paintings will probably be up for a while still.” 

“It’s a deal,” he replies as he tries not to smash the computer.

 

* * *

 

The third piece of the Ice Queen’s he visits is underpass she’s encased in crystal.

He reaches out touch it, not entirely believing it’s painted, but his hand just meets with cold stone.  He wants to break through it, smash it to pieces and drag out the girl he feels behind it. It’s a feeling he doesn’t entirely understand, but he feels someone behind the crystal calling to him, overwhelming him with grief.  

Sitting down he pulls out a sketch book and draws her against a tree, napping in the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

“I get that feeling from that one too, except it’s more of a rage than grief,” Jean notes when he mentions the crystal painting. They’re on the train together, headed towards a tag that Jean explains can only be seen from the train car. Well, that or by breaking past several security check points.

The ride is boring until they approach a tunnel and Jean snaps his fingers, getting up to look out the window and motioning for Armin to do the same. His eyes widen when he sees it. A single wall in as they come out of the tunnel to pass a yard. He’s falling. Frozen in time he’s falling from a wall he’s trying to climb.

And in a second they’ve passed it and he’s crying. He doesn’t get why, and Jean doesn’t question him on it.

 

* * *

 

At home he dreams of her and they’re dancing in an empty room. It’s dark and they’re wrapped around each other, swaying gently to no music. Tears are in his eyes, and he knows this may be the last time he ever sees her. That tomorrow they will be separated so tonight they’re together. They kiss, their hands wander and before they know it they’re tangled up on the bed.

He wakes up and takes a cold shower for almost an hour.

 

* * *

 

Jean had circled a spot on the map halfway across town, but when he gets there it’s been painted over with the same light grey paint the city uses to cover up most of its painted buildings. He feels more disappointed than anything, like he’s been robbed of something. Surely Jean has a photo, but he knows it won’t be the same.  

He pulls out can and sprays her onto the grey wall her in a white dress, facing away from him, hair tossed by a breeze. It’s not a memory, or a dream, it’s something he knows he’s never seen, something else that had been robbed from him.

He doesn’t sign it, just writes ‘sorry I missed it’ with a paint marker at the bottom, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Absent mindedly he sketches her naked for the first time, cheeks red the whole time and grateful his roommates aren’t home to see him so flustered. It isn’t like he’s never drawn a nude woman before; art school had taken the embarrassment of it away from him long ago.

But this, to draw her, was so much different, so much more personal. In his dreams this girl was his, and he was hers.

He snaps the sketchbook shut the second the door opens.

 

* * *

 

“She painted you,” Jean’s voice says from the other side of the phone.

“What?”

“The Ice Queen. She painted you. I just got a photo texted to me. The alley on 9th ave.”

Armin hangs up and runs out the apartment and down the street to where he had painted her laughing weeks before. He doesn’t want to believe it, but there he is across from her. Wrapped in a cloak with the hood up, but it was him. Those were his eyes and that was his face.

“Those eyes,” He mutters to himself, “When did you start looking at me with those eyes?”

He sits with his back against the wall, suddenly so tired.

 

* * *

 

Its cold out, but he’d grabbed his backpack and headed to the rail yard anyway. He’s never painted a train car, but it’s never too late to try. He paints her trapped in crystal, in the Ice Queen’s crystal. He hates it, wants to smash it, cover it in black spray paint and pretend it never happened.

But he didn’t bring enough paint for that, so he signs it and leaves.

 

* * *

 

He manages to keep her and the Ice Queen out of his mind for a full week before Jean calls him again, this time late at night.

“I saw you’re new work near Broadway today. Looking awesome! You should have told me.”

Confusion washes over him, “I’ve never painted anything near Broadway.”

“But I was sure this was you, who else would paint her except you?”

Armin hangs up on him again (it’s becoming a habit) and runs out the door once more.

 

* * *

 

He knows it’s her when he gets there. Her blonde hair and petit figure surrounded by falling ice, arm reaching out to grab something in the empty space beside her. The space for him.

He goes to work instantly, working on what was probably his first ever self-portrait outside the school assignments. He empties every spray can in his bag and finds he’s short on yellow to finish his hair.

“Catch,” a voice from behind him says, and he turns just in time to grab a can of mustard yellow before it hits him. 

The figure has a hood up, face hidden in the darkness, “Well,” She, he was sure that voice was female, continued “You came here to finish it right?”

He smiles and looks up at the painting, making clean sweeps and signing his name next to hers. On the wall they’re together, hands linked as he pulls her out of her prison of crystal. And in reality she’s beside him, pulling down her hood so he can see her face.

“Hi.” He says shyly, almost afraid to meet her eyes.

“Hello,” she replies, a smile creeping up on her face.

They link hands, as if it’s natural, and she turns to face him.

“I was starting to think I dreamt you up,” she says, breaking the silence.

“Me too,” he notes with a chuckle, reaching out to push blonde hair away from her face, “Can I?”

“Yes.”

His lips catch hers in a soft kiss, the kind you remember for a lifetime or two. Eyes close and he knows he’s crying, but she’s crying to and she’s real and here and is exactly what he remembers in his dreams.

They continue to kiss, not even noticing when the night watch police come by until they’re both in handcuffs and arrested for vandalism.

 

* * *

 

“So what kind of a tag is Legout?” She asks as they sit in booking, waiting to be processed.

He laughs, harder than he’s ever laughed before, “I guess we haven’t introduced ourselves yet have we?”, he extends his hand, the one not currently handcuffed and holding hers,  “I’m Armin, so it’s just a shitty name pun my friends made up years ago.”

“Ah, makes sense, even if it’s stupid,” she shook his offered hand, “I’m Annie by the way”

“Nice to meet you Annie,” The name rings so familiar in his head and he’s not sure why he didn’t just know it to begin with.

“Likewise, Armin.”

They’re leaning against each other, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I never thought I would be so happy to be arrested,” he notes, not able to take his eyes off her.

Her eyes open to glance up at him, “You know they’ll separate us once we’re processed right?”

“True,” Another laugh, “How long do you think they’ll hold us?”

“An hour, maybe two?” Annie yawned, “They don’t really have much to hold us on, and I don’t know about you but I have a fairly clean record.”

“Do you want to hang out after?” His free hand playing with her hair as he asks.

“Hang out?”

“You know, food, drinks, movies,” He kisses the top off her head, “Learning every possible thing about you?”

“Making out on your couch until I have to work?”

He blushes, “I’m not sure if my roommates will like that…”

Annie laughs, and he smiles even wider.

* * *

 

_Our graffiti love_

_Spray paint on my glove_

_They'll wonder who you are_

_On every subway car_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm 100% I bounced back between past and present tense a few horrible times in this... 
> 
> I've had this in my head for a couple months. Completely inspired by The Barenaked Ladies - Every Subway car (look up the version with Erin McCarley) I was originally going to be a levihan fic, but i found it fit better with these two.. 
> 
> And yes, the girl who beat Eren in poker and Krista's friend is Annie... Originally I was going to do both sides of the story in one fic... but I didn't... but I did write Annies pov (its next in the series) 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading.


End file.
